


All the ugly, all the shame

by lenny (babeybee)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrinette, Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt, Hurt and comfort, LadyNoir - Freeform, Marichat, Post Reveal, adrienette - Freeform, post identity reveal, post-reveal, she's insecure and crushed by the weight of her anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26465026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babeybee/pseuds/lenny
Summary: Marinette is very sad. And scared. Adrien is sad that she's sad so he makes her not sad. He loves her.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 3
Kudos: 90





	All the ugly, all the shame

It’s a warm mid-fall afternoon. 

The sun is tinted orange as it prepares for its downwards decent, proudly spilling its rays like honey through the windows of a cozy little home in Paris, the Dupain-Cheng residence, where Marinette and Adrien are lazing on her bed, quietly basking in each other’s presence as their minds rest and wander.

Marinette’s eyes follow the light from her window that paints her room a dewy gold, blinking her eyes shut for a quiet moment in which she takes a steadying breath.

“Do you think you could love me?” She asks, her eyes fluttering open and peering towards her boyfriend. The question takes him aback, seemingly unprompted, as he adjusts himself to sit upright and look at the bluenette that’s looking down at her toes. He folds his legs and inches closer to her, quizzically tilting his head like a curious dog. Quietly, gingerly, he intertwines his fingers with hers.

“Do you think you could love me?” she repeats, her gaze still turned down, “As a messy person in a constant panic and plagued with never-ending worries.” She looks at his tightening grip on her hand, the thought of ‘ _I don’t deserve this_ ‘ rearing its head and crashing through her like a bull charging towards his matador. She swallows thickly, tears glossing over her eyes as she thinks about how she could never possibly compare to her alter ego. She could never be perfect. She could never be what he saw her as. He would never love her for everything she is, all her mistakes, all her failures, all her faults, everything horribly wrong about her. She could never be ladybug. She could never be loved. “After all the things I’ve done, as the person I am, could you love me?”

He looks at her with a sudden pain getting itself caught in his stomach. He struggles to find words, gears running in his head. Unexpectedly afraid and overwhelmed, she slips her hand from his and wraps her arms firmly around his waist, staring at his unreadable expression that’s blurred from her watery sight, tears no longer still as they drop down her face, forming little rivers down her cheeks. She hiccups. “Could you love me as I am? All the ugly and the shame. Do you think you could love me? All of it?” 

He furrows his eyebrows and lets her cling to him as tightly as she needs to, his arms gently looped around her. He shifts his hands so he cradles her face, feeling her cheeks flushed warm and damp with tears. “I already do,” he says in a whisper, but he’s confident. He means it. He has never been more certain about anything in his life before. “I already love you. All of you. All the ugly and the shame.” 

She cries, hard and ugly, slipping her face out of his palms to bury herself into his chest, forming herself to the seat of his lap, sniffling and babbling muffled apologies for getting his shirt wet, which he completely ignores, her fluttering eyelashes tickling him through the fabric as he presses his lips onto her hair. “I love you so much, and you are good enough. You have always been good enough.” She sobs and squeezes him impossibly tight, shaking, heaving. He can’t breathe, but he doesn’t notice because right now all that’s important is her and how much he loves her, holding her as close to him as his strength can let him.

Her crying slowly fades into quiet breaths and trembling arms. She takes a deep breath, releasing it shakily into his chest. “Could you love me?” She asks again, her voice barely heard and very muffled in his torso. 

“I already do,” he whispers back again. He doesn’t mind saying it twice, three times, as many as she needs to hear it. He wants her to take her time. He wants her to feel safe. “I love you because you’re you, Marinette. Not because you’re kind, or because you’re a quick thinker, or beautiful, or because I think you could never do wrong.” He kisses the top of her head. “I love you because you are you, and that’s more than I would ever even dream to ask for.” His hand roams up and down her back, soft and slow, trying to pour as much love into her as possible. 

Adrien’s always been the physically affectionate type. He’d never experienced much of it, but when Marinette had timidly told him she liked him about two years ago the morning after a (very much begged for from his father) group sleepover, it only took him a few minutes to process that something in his brain and heart clicked simultaneously, unlocking a vault of emotions at the pit of his stomach that came swirling up his throat and spilling red into his cheeks. He was so excited and so full of pure joy that he’d hugged her and kissed her so much within the succeeding twenty-four hours, to the point where at night, when it came time for her to go, he didn’t want her to leave and insisted that he walk her home. Everything was right in the world. He was right to love her. He was lucky to have her love him back.

She finally lifts her head from his chest but not before wiping her nose on his shirt, making his face scrunch up in mock disgust and causing her to laugh a little and mumble a halfhearted ‘sorry’. She peers into his eyes just to see him staring at her with a familiar fondness, a warm smile, a genuine expression. He’s soft, and she feels so small in his arms. She remembers suddenly that she’s just wiped her nose on his shirt so she asks, voice croaky from the crying, “still love me?”

He snorts and plants butterfly kisses, soft and faint, all over her face, thriving in her giggles. He rests his forehead on hers and takes her hands into his, grazing his thumbs over her palms in a small gesture of affection. “Absolutely. All the ugly, all the shame, all the grossness. You’re welcome to snot on my shirt anytime, princess.”


End file.
